


Walkers on Ice

by Untherius



Category: Frozen (2013), The Walking Dead (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:58:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3941110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Untherius/pseuds/Untherius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the road again following the Woodbury debacle, Rick and company meet someone who might actually be more dangerous than walkers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walkers on Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nikiverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikiverse/gifts).



> Takes place shortly after the Prison Incident as it occurs at the end of Season 3 of the television series.
> 
> Inspired by The Walking Disney drawings by Kasami-Sensei:  
> http://kasami-sensei.deviantart.com/gallery/48483058/The-Walking-Disney-Pixar-and-Dreamworks

Rick Grimes stood astride the double yellow line running down the middle of Hwy. 411 just south of Crandall, Georgia. The scene was just another variation of more of the same, really.

A row of burned-out and abandoned single-wide mobile homes stretched behind him along the left-hand side of the road, windows smashed and siding scorched, charred, and blistered in various places. To the right, a few metal buildings stood, looking equally abandoned. Beyond those, broad-leaved forest grew toward the Conasauga Recreational Area and Cohutta Wilderness in the southern Appalachians.

In the intersection with Dewberry Church Rd. stood three people, their brown-and-white dog, and an off-white pack llama, all of them wearing packs of some sort or another.

The man was tall—a couple of inches over six feet—and broad-chested, with arms that could probably pull a walker's head clean off its shoulders, and unkempt blond hair. He'd tucked his plain, dull-red T-shirt into beat-up jeans that brushed equally beat-up leather hiking boots. A grey down jacket hung out of the top flap of his backpack beneath a long-handled axe in an easily-reachable position. The gleaming metal was clean and clearly well-maintained, but showing signs of heavy use, the adjacent wood deeply blood-stained.

The woman standing next to him was about average height, somewhere around five-six or five-seven. Bright blue eyes and a freckled face peeked out beneath a maroon stocking cap. Twin auburn braids, one of them with a conspicuous white stripe, fell across the straps of a black tank-top with a green-and-yellow floral pattern over which she wore a dull-green sweater. That was tucked into loose blue BDU pants cinched at the ankles above barely-worn leather flats. An AR-15 rifle rested casually against her left shoulder.

The second woman was a couple of inches taller than the first, her face indicating a clear family resemblance. Her eyes were a piercing, glacial blue and hair whiter than Rick had ever seen draped in a single braid over one shoulder, with unruly tendrils escaping here and there. She wore a pale blue, strapless halter top of some sparkly material, loose-cut jeans, rust-splattered deerskin moccasins, a holstered pistol, and fingerless motorcycle gloves.

All three of them had that hardened, haunted look Rick had seen in every survivor, be they friend, foe, or otherwise. It was the same expression that stared right back at him every time he looked into a mirror and he knew it intimately. Only the trio before him had more intensity behind their eyes than he'd seen in anyone, even before all the crap had hit the fan.

Rick rested his gun hand casually against his right hip, ready to draw at a moment's notice. For several pregnant moments, no one said anything. Then the dog growled softly.

“Sven, heel,” said the man evenly. The growling subsided, tapering off into a short-lived chuffing sound.

“If you're heading to Atlanta,” said Rick, “you're wasting your time.”

“Oh?” said the red-head.

“Nothing there but walkers. If you value your lives, you should be somewhere else.”

“And if that's exactly why we're going?” said the man.

“The CDC is gone. Destroyed by fire.”

“We're not interested in the CDC,” said the white-haired woman.

“Then why _are_ you going?” asked Glenn.

“We're hunters,” said the man.

“You hunt walkers?”

“If that's what you call them.”

“You're out of your minds,” said Rick. “Do you have any idea how many people are...were...in Atlanta?”

“A million or so?”

“Try five million.” Rick glanced at the llama. “And I can guarantee you don't have that many bullets.”

The red-head snickered. “Bullets. That's cute.”

“Actually,” said the man, “we were looking for someplace to overwinter. We just cleared out Chattanooga, and we understand Conasauga Rec Area's a nice spot. We were thinking about detouring to Atlanta first, but we're flexible.”

“Well...Conasauga's nice, yeah,” said Rick. “For a summer weekend. Not very defensible, though.”

The white-haired woman chuckled. “It will be once I'm done with it.”

“What,” said Glenn, “do you plan to build a wall around it?”

“Exactly.”

“With what?”

“Ice.”

“Right.”

The woman shrugged.

Sven growled again, his attention glued to something off to the west. The distinctive sound of growling walkers, at least a dozen at first guess, floated on the autumn breeze.

“Ah,” said the red-head, “looks like we have some stragglers, eh?”

“Daryl, Glenn, Maggie,” said Rick, drawing his side-arm

“No,” said the white-haired woman, gently tugging the glove from her right hand, “I got this.”

She extended her arm elegantly, then twitched a finger at the nearest walker, still a good fifty yards off. The air around her hand rippled slightly, then something small and shiny leaped from a fingertip with a barely-audible hiss. A moment later, something hit the walker square in the forehead. Matter spurted though a hole and the body collapsed. The woman continued to flick her hand, the same ripple continuing until each walker lay motionless on the ground. It happened faster than Rick had seen anyone shoot a pistol, almost as fast as semi-automatic, and was over in under fifteen seconds.

The woman tugged her glove back on. “Like my sister said...bullets.” She snorted, presumably for emphasis.

The red-head patted her weapon. “Sometimes I have to take the hundred on the left while she takes the thousand on the right.”

“She's not exaggerating either,” added the man.

Rick blinked at the white-haired woman. “What the hell was that?” he asked.

She crossed her arms and smirked. “It's largely how we cleaned out Chattanooga.”

An awkward silence followed.

“I know!” said the red-head, “They could come with us!”

“Um, Anna,” said the white-haired woman, “I don't think that's such a good idea.”

“Oh, why not? They look like fun to me.”

“Hey,” said the man, “I know I'm not exactly a social butterfly, but it would sure be nice to spend some time looking at human faces that aren't trying to eat me.”

“And how do you know they won't try to kill us?” the white-haired woman asked.

“Wouldn't they have done it by now?”

The white-haired woman peered at Rick and the people with him as though she were weighing all the risks. She sighed. “Fine. But that wall is going to have to be a lot longer.”

“Is that a problem?” asked the red-head...Anna, apparently.

“Well...not really. But I'll have to spend the whole way up there glued to that topo map. For architectural reasons, I can't just run that wall willy-nilly all over the place, you know.”

“Wait,” said Rick. “Give us a minute.” He turned around and took a few steps back toward the other vehicles.

“Rick,” said Hershel quietly. “This is risky.”

“Everything we've been doing is risky. Whatever that was, we need to be on the right side of it. Or at least, not on the wrong side. Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but I could really use some downtime away from all of this.”

“How do we know we can trust them?” Daryl asked.

“He's got a point,” said Glenn.

“Well, we don't,” said Rick. “And I think you all know how suspicious I've gotten about, well, just about everyone.”

“I don't know about the rest of you,” said Maggie, “but I'm kind of tired of running. I could use a break from just that.”

“Didn't we say that about the prison?” said Carl.

“Boy's got a point,” said Hershel. “Could be we're walking into another version of that.”

“I don't know,” said Rick. “I don't get that kind of vibe off them. I think they're more like us, only...I don't know...more put together? And I've been up there a time or two. It's a nice place. Fish in the lake, game in the woods, fairly remote, short of heading clear up to the Appalachian Trail or Blue Ridge Parkway. And it's actually the best suggestion I've heard in a while.”

“Well, if you're sure. I guess I don't have to remind you not to go in half-cocked.”

Rick shot Hershel a look, then turned back to face the women. “Okay, look,” he said. “We'd all be lying if we said we weren't impressed by that...whatever it was you just did. We'd also be lying if we said it didn't make us a little nervous. So we're taking a bit of a risk by taking you up on your offer.” He extended a hand. “Rick Grimes.”

The red-head shook it. She had a firm grip. “Anna Agtharsdotter. This is my sister Elsa. And this handsome hunk of a man here is my fiance Kristoff Bjorgman.”

“We call the llama Olaf,” Elsa added. “He kind of either likes you or he doesn't. If he does, he'll let you give him warm hugs.”

“If he doesn't?” Glenn asked.

“He bites,” said Anna.

“Don't worry,” said Kristoff, “so long as you have some spare pick-up space, we'll handle him.” Then he added, gesturing to the dog, “Sven here's much better behaved than Olaf. And he's our early-warning system.” As if on cue, Sven opened his mouth and started panting lightly.

“What breed is he?” asked Maggie.

“Norwegian elkhund.”

“He's pretty. May I pet him?”

Kristoff shrugged. “Sure. But if he backs off or growls, that's his warning shot. Just so you know. So, Rick,” he continued, as he led Olaf around to the waiting pick-up bed, “you're in law-enforcement, eh?”

Rick and Carl pulled out a couple of boards and braced them between the ground and the tailgate and about a foot apart.

“Yeah,” said Carl. “What of it?”

“Carl,” said Rick.

“Nah, no worries,” said Kristoff, pulling off Olaf's pack and placing the load along one side of the bed. “It's just that lawmen kind of have a certain je-ne-sais-quoi about them, know what I mean?”

“Sheriff's deputy, if you must know.”

“Whoo!” said Anna as she and Kristoff urged Olaf up the make-shift ramp. “That's a really tough business to be in right now. That is really, really...” She cleared her throat. “That's unfortunate.”

Twenty minutes later, the caravan had turned onto Dewberry Church Rd, crossed the railroad tracks, then up Mill Creek Rd. toward the park.

Every so often, they spotted a random, solitary walker. Each time, Elsa took it out using whatever that was she'd used earlier. The woman seemed so casual about it and that by itself did little to assuage Rick's persistent unease. As had become second-nature to him since he'd first awoken alone in the hospital, he began to second-guess himself.

On the surface, it was logical enough to include another small group of strangers, strangers who could become friends. It had happened several times: the gang outside of Atlanta; Hershel and his family; Tyreese and his people. So why not? He just wished he knew what it was that Elsa was shooting at the walkers and why it looked like she was doing it out of her bare hands.

* * *

After more than an hour of twisting and turning along Mill Creek Rd, a hard right onto Cow Pen Rd., tall conifers mixing in with the deciduous trees as the grade climbed up to three thousand feet, the convoy made another right onto Conasauga Lake Rd. The standard yellow-and-brown Forest Service sign identified the rec area.

“Stop here!” called Elsa.

Rick eased onto the brake, then leaned out the window. “Why here?”

“Because,” said Elsa, bouncing out of the truck to light gracefully on the gravel, “we'll need the room. If it had just been the three of us, I could have set our perimeter maybe a hundred yards or so from the lakeshore and we'd have been fine. But with the lot of you, we're going to need it all if we're going to survive until spring.”

“Um...all?”

Elsa brandished a USGS topo map. “Yup. The whole jaevla thing!”

“Just...what sort of...uh...perimeter are you planning to erect?”

Elsa grinned, then stripped off a glove and tucked it into a pocket. She held out her hand palm-up. Something tiny twinkled in the air above it. That something quickly expanded into a small snowflake. It continued to grow, all the while rotating lazily above Elsa's palm, until it was several inches in diameter. It was beautiful.

“What the hell?”

“Whoa,” said Carl.

Elsa caught the snowflake between her fingers, holding it briefly before it disintegrated into a cloud of thousands of minute crystals. She tucked the map under her arm, then pulled off the other glove, which joined the first one. Then she peered at the map again, then made a gesture toward the spur road leading toward the lake. “You'd better pull inside and get situated. This is going to take a while.”

Elsa stepped to the left-hand shoulder. She took a deep breath, then stomped her left foot down onto the ground. A sheet of something glassy-looking spread out around her, moving away toward the road. It spread across the ditch and crept rapidly along the western shoulder of Conasauga Lake Rd., then straight uphill toward the southeast.

She raised her left hand palm outward, a halo of distorted air rippling around it. From beside the road's drainage ditch, a pillar of what looked like ice rose quickly out of the ground. It grew rapidly, like a great hexagonal tree at least three yards in diameter.

The ice tree topped out at what looked like forty feet. Spikes sprouted from the upper half, many of them pointed downward, others at seemingly random angles. From the other side of the tree, another plane of ice—thinner, but still at least a yard thick itself--grew away from it, also topping out at around forty feet and with the same kinds of wicked-looking icicles protruding from it.

The ice crackled and whined as its weight pressed into the ground and settled against itself. In some places, it grew around tree limbs, the woody tissue groaning as the ice strained against it.

“Oh...my...God,” said Hershel.

“What the hell's she doing?” asked Glenn.

“She's building a castle!” said Carl. “An ice castle!”

“That's impossible,” said Rick. But he knew the moment he said it that he was wrong. He didn't know how, but Elsa was, in fact, erecting a wall made entirely of ice. A wall meant to keep out anyone or anything.

“How?” said Maggie.

“It's complicated,” said Anna.

“Ya know,” said Kristoff, “like the lady said, we really should be going.”

“Oh, don't worry,” Anna added, “she's perfectly safe. There's been no sign of...what'd you call 'em...oh, ya, walkers since just outside of Crandall. Besides, she's the Snow Queen!”

“Anna,” Elsa grunted, “please don't distract me.”

“Sorry.”

Rick groaned and shook his head. Against rapidly deteriorating judgment, he got back into the truck and the column—his column—ground off down the gravel toward the sinking sun.

* * *

Rick leaned against a picnic table as the last blue of twilight faded. It hadn't taken everyone long to settle in. A quick loop around the rec area showed no sign of any habitation, either living or dead. Each driver had chosen a campsite and parked there, the vehicle's occupants wasting little time unloading their meager belongings. What passed for dinner had been hastily eaten out of cans and packages that had been, as usual, opportunistically scavenged, or else brought from the prison or Woodbury.

It was going to be cold up here, no doubt about it, and even colder once the snows began to fly. There weren't enough tents, among other things, and Rick wasn't sure he wanted to send anyone out to scavenge wherever the nearest sporting goods store might have been.

Hell, he wasn't even sure they could get out at all if Elsa were to seal up that damn wall of hers. The only sign of that wall's progress had been when he'd watched it march quickly across the earthen dam at the far end of the lake.  
Some fifteen, maybe twenty minutes after the last light had faded, a pair of LED lamps bobbed out from the drive leading down from Conasauga Lake Rd. A pair of giggling female voices accompanied them.

“Good grief!” said Anna as she and Elsa walked up to Rick. “Start some campfires already!” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Kristoff already has.”

Rick looked over at a small blaze, then cocked an eyebrow.

Anna giggled. “There's a saying. Red man build small fire. Stand up real close. Get warm. White man build _great big_ fire! Stand _way back!!!_ ”

Elsa tittered at that.

“I don't suppose you could answer some questions first,” said Hershel.

“You don't want to settle in first?” asked Elsa.

“It'd make us feel a lot better if we at least knew what it was you did and how you did it,” said Rick. “I wasn't exactly expecting an ice wall when we agreed to come up here.”

“Why not? In fact, I told you exactly what I was going to do.”

“She has a point, Dad,” said Carl.

“Yeah, but...” Rick cut off with a groan.

Elsa exhaled. “Okay, fine. Join us over there...” She nodded in the direction of Kristoff's small fire. “...in about ten minutes and we'll talk. Will that do?”

“For now.”

The sisters turned and strolled away.

“This is really weird, Rick,” said Hershel.

“You're telling me. But tell me this. Is it any weirder than the dead coming back to life and trying to eat everything with a pulse?”

“Maybe not. But at least we know what's responsible for that, even if we don't know how it works. But Elsa?”

“Do you really think she has it in for us?”

“That Governor fellow did.”

“Yeah, but he was trying to control an entire town while hiding a bunch of little secrets.”

“Everyone's got somethin' to hide, Rick. You know that better than most. Especially now, after all that's happened.”

Rick sighed. “It's gotta go up at some point, right? I mean, we've hit bottom already, haven't we?”

“I try not to presume when it comes to that. Because the moment I convince myself it's as bad as it can be, it gets just a little bit worse. And that goes way back to my boyhood, so it's nothin' new. But, yes, you're right. The light at the end of the tunnel never remains the headlamp of an oncoming train. I say we give 'em a chance. We're kind of in it already anyway.”

Rick nodded. That was about all he could do. He didn't always agree with Hershel, but the man had a way about being right when it came to things that really mattered. It probably came with the territory of being old enough to be everyone's father, including Rick's.

Several minutes later, Rick strolled into the wide, grassy clearing beside the restroom structure. The rest of his people trickled in behind him. His people. He briefly mused on the irony of that.

Elsa seemed to have been briefly busy. A small, waist-high wall of ice surrounded Olaf at the edge of the turf. Beside it and nestled between a few trees stood a large, yurt-shaped ice structure, enclosed two-thirds of the way around.

Where the ice castle, as Carl had put it, was massive and imposing, the ice yurt was just the opposite. Its supports were round columns barely as large as his own leg. Both them, and the inch-thick walls that spanned them were etched with flowy, knotwork designs and what looked like Norse runes worked in between snowflakes. A small hexagonal, three-tiered chandelier, resembling nothing so much as a three-dimensional snowflake, hung from the center of the high, arched ceiling, giving the yurt the suggestion of a miniature cathedral.

Bedding had been spread out in a couple of places next to the walls. The rest of their gear lay neatly on the ground, some of it next to the bedding and some beside the cooking space.

What looked like a small log round, but made of ice, stood beside each bed. Two tables, also apparently made of ice, stood near the center of the room, their tops single sheets about two feet across, a half-inch thick, with fractal snowflake patterns across their surfaces. A collection of boxes and cans cluttered one of them.

Elsa, Anna, and Kristoff knelt around their small fire ring in the middle of the space. A cast-iron frying pan rested on a few rocks between which blazed a small, hot fire. A Coleman lantern, one of the LED models, hung from the chandelier, its light reflected and refracted in fractal patterns all around the walls and floor. Sizzling sounds and various smells wafted from the fire.

Elsa looked up and waved. “Please don't mind us,” she said. “We started dinner, but I think we can talk around it.”

“English muffins, cheddar, and Spam,” Kristoff added. “With some Vee-Eight.”

“We have s'mores for later,” said Anna, “if you'd like to share. And what we think should be a particularly good mead.”

Elsa gestured to the ground. “I...I'm afraid I neglected to ask you all to bring chairs. That is, assuming you have a few. I apologize. So...I suppose you'll have to pull up patches of ground.” She stood up, a shimmering skirt of some strange-looking fabric having replaced her jeans, and took a couple of steps away from the fire. She tapped a foot on the ground and small column of ice about a foot in diameter rose up out of the grass nearly to Elsa's knees. She settled herself regally upon it.

“Um,” said Michonne, “aren't any of you cold?”

The trio looked at themselves and each other, then shrugged. The sun had taken quite a bit of warmth with it, but not only had the three still not put on jackets, they didn't seem to mind.

“We're from Minnesota,” said Kristoff, as though that explained everything. Which, Rick had to admit, quite possibly did.

“And, well,” added Elsa, “like my sister said...Snow Queen.” Which apparently explained anything Kristoff's comment about Minnesota hadn't. “Now,” she said, “let's get started, shall we?”

“Get started with what?” asked Daryl. “We still don't know anything about you.”

“Hey,” said Tyreese, “y'all didn't know anything about me when I joined up and y'all didn't seem to have too much of a problem with that. At least, not once we all got past the 'let's not shoot first and ask questions later' part.”

“Yeah, but you don't have...that's another thing they haven't said. Just what _is_ that?”

“Cryokinesis,” said Elsa.

“Cry...what?”

“If everyone will pull up a sod, we can at least tell the short version of our story. I think we'll have plenty of time for all the rest of it over the coming winter.”

“Um...”

“Hey,” said Kristoff, “you all decided to come up here with us.” He handed Elsa what was apparently the aforementioned English muffin with cheese and Spam.

She took a small bite. “This is good,” she said, after she'd chewed and swallowed.

“Um,” said Anna, “we've only been having this all the time since we started.”

“This is spicier. It's good, though. Can't wait for breakfast.”

“You mean the eggs and Spam?”

“What about the biscuits?” asked Kristoff. “Maybe we could make some gravy, too.”

“Ooo! Spam gravy on biscuits with eggs and sausage!”

“With extra Spam, of course.”

“I don't know about anyone else,” said Elsa, “but I think I've earned the Spam sausage, eggs, Spam gravy over biscuits, Spam, Spam, extra-sharp cheddar, potatoes, and Spam.”

“And maybe tomorrow,” said Kristoff, “we can break into the turkey Spam.”

“At some point,” said Anna, “we'll have to pair it with fish. Catch a few crappie and make fish and Spam chips!”

“The next time we kill a deer, we can have venison Spamburgers.”

“Ooo! With wild mustard-seed spread and greens!”

“Dad,” said Carl, “are we gonna eat with them, too?”

“Um,” said Rick, “I'm not sure yet. Why?”

“If we do, can we get all that stuff without the Spam?”

“Why?” said Kristoff.

“Duh. Because I don't like Spam.”

“Well, that's just silly!” Anna laughed.

“Is not,” said Carl.

“But that's like not liking lutefisk,” said Kristoff.

“Or saunas,” said Anna.

“Or hockey.”

“Or Prince.”

“Or Sorels.”

“Or potlucks.”

“Or reindeer.”

“Or Caribou Coffee.”

“Or rooting for any team other than the Minnesota Vikings,” added Elsa.

“Look,” said Rick, “maybe we can discuss the menu options later, okay? We still haven't gone over ground rules or any of that yet anyway. Hell, we're not a hundred percent sure we're all staying anyway or how long.”

“One day at a time?” said Elsa. She shrugged. “Sure, you-betcha.” She took another bite, then chewed and swallowed. “Okay, then. Are you all going to stand there?”

“We've been sitting all day,” said Daryl.

“Suit yourself.” She cleared her throat. “Well, the three of us were SoBo hiking the...”

“You were what?” Carl interrupted.

“Um...you don't know what hiking is?”

Carl snorted. “Duh. No, I mean what's sobo?”

“It's hiker-speak,” said Kristoff. “Short for south-bound.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Most hikers go north, following the melting snows and then later racing the coming winter storms. Out west, some people hike the PCT...”

“Pacific Crest Trail,” said Anna.

“Thanks. SoBo so they won't have to deal with snow, ice, and swollen streams in the High Sierra.”

“But,” said Elsa, “when you're, well, me, cold and ice aren't really an issue. Anyway, we were on the Appalachian Trail when the first reports of this outbreak began to filter in from Civilization. We were just passing through Maryland.”

“Naturally,” said Anna, “we thought they were just jokes about the government, right?”

“But the further south we hiked, the stranger things became. When we finally reached the Springer Mountain trailhead, all hell had broken loose. We've been bumming around and generally making plans to get back home ever since.”

“Which home, though?” asked Anna.

Kristoff chuckled.

“Ja, that,” said Elsa. She took a deep breath, then let it back out and continued. “There's a family story that we're distantly descended from European nobility.”

“Are you?” asked Carl.

“It's bullshit, Carl,” said Daryl. “Everyone's related to some count or somethin'.”

“Daryl,” said Rick, “give it a rest, okay?”

“As it turns out,” said Anna, “you're both right. I mean, ja, just look at the...what is it...the Society for the Illegitimate Children of the Kings and Queens of England? Or something like that. Anyway, we supposedly go back to Erik the Red and some others. Which is not much to write home about, considering he was banished from Iceland by one of the first Althingar...”

Elsa cleared her throat.

“Right,” said Anna.

“Okay,” said Rick, “that's all very interesting, but what does it have to do with your cryokinesis?”

“I'm getting to that,” said Elsa. “So I was born a cryokinetic. As far as I know, no one has any idea why and my parents kept it a secret from everyone, including Anna. Especially after the accident.”

“It left me with some weird sort of selective amnesia,” said Anna. “I still have this strange, recurring dream in which I was kissed by a troll.”

“Longer story,” said Elsa. “Anna and I were both homeschooled, ostensibly for everyone's safety. When I was eighteen, Mom and Dad took an anniversary trip to Alaska. There was a boating accident involving an orca. That was all we were told.

“After that, I started an online architecture degree while trying to help Uncle Kai keep Dad's business going.”

“Three years later,” said Anna, “I'd just finished high school, when Aunt Gerta showed up with a couple of guys from Norway's State Department. They said there was some weird accident involving King Harald the Fifth and most of his relatives. Apparently there's some convoluted Norse political stuff and, well, Elsa's the new Queen.”

Elsa chuckled. “At first, I didn't believe her when she told me. But then she slid the Norwegian papers under my door and...well, to make a long story short, one thing led to another and I kind of had a panic attack.”

“She froze a few things,” said Kristoff.

“Like Lake Superior,” Anna giggled.

“You froze Lake Superior?” Glenn.

“Wait,” said Beth, “that severe weather phenomenon that was all over CNN...that was you?”

“I didn't do it on purpose!” Elsa protested.

“You're telling us,” said Tyreese, “that you _accidentally_ froze Lake Superior?”

“Well...not the whole thing.”

“Not the whole thing?” Beth repeated. “There were reports of ice bergs floating into Lake Michigan. It's a miracle none of the resulting collisions resulted in any fatalities.”

Elsa cringed and the temperature abruptly dropped. There was something about Elsa's demeanor that suggested that the ability to generate that much cold weather bothered her deeply and that she wasn't the sort who was likely to turn out to be a super-villainess.

“Short story,” said Elsa, “after I...got over it, I told them Anna and I were going to hike the Appalachian Trail before going to Norway. Kind of a girl bonding, sisters getting to know each other all over again sort of thing.”

“Apparently,” said Anna, “the correct response is always, 'yes, Your Majesty.'”

“So,” said Carl, “you're telling us you really are the Snow Queen?”

Elsa shrugged. “More or less.”

“Why the gloves, then?” Maggie asked.

“Father always told me they'd help me control my power. Ya know...Anna, will you help me remember to grab those white leather ones back home?”

“You mean the opera-length ones?” said Anna. She giggled. “You know, you could totally pull of the whole white leather thing as a coronation outfit.”

Elsa snorted a laugh. “Anna!” Then she smirked. “If I do that, I'll insist you do the same thing in black leather.”

“Hmm,” said Kristoff pensively.

“You man,” said Anna, elbowing him in the ribs. “Besides, if I do the black leather thing, you have to put up with me prancing around Oslo singing about defying gravity. Although...that's more your style anyway. But really, Elsa, it would totally fit with the whole Snow Queen look.”

“You're not letting go of that, are you?” said Elsa.

“Nope! Why do you think we made it your trail name?”

“On second thought, maybe you should wear the white leather and I'll wear something like this.” She fluffed her skirt, its material shimmering.

“Ooo!” Anna squealed. “That's even _more_ Snow Queenly!”

Elsa rolled her eyes and sighed. “That's why I love you, Anna. You keep me from taking myself too seriously.”

“So...you're _nor_ really the queen of Norway?” said Glenn.

“Oh, I'm the Drottning Norvegar alright,” said Elsa. “That is, if this epidemic hasn't jumped continents.”

“And if it has?” said Beth.

“Then there might not be much of a Norway left to rule.”

“We'll be our own parliament,” said Anna.

“At least it'll make our jobs easier,” said Kristoff.

“Unless I try to invoke some old traditions and unite the rest of Scandinavia under my rule,” said Elsa.

“Do you even speak Norwegian?” Maggie asked.

“Well...Old Norse,” said Elsa.

“That's not quite the same thing, is it?” said Beth.

“Not really, no. We spent a fair amount of time conversing with the delegates from Norway and we could follow each other well enough, although they seemed amused.”

“I think,” said Anna, “it's a bit like how Elizabethan English is different from modern English. Can you imagine if a Senator tried to give a speech from the floor sounding like Shakespeare?”

There were chuckles.

“Well,” said Hershel, “more people might have tuned in to C-SPAN.”

“What's it sound like?” Carl asked.

“Carl,” said Rick.

“Oh, no, it's no trouble,” said Elsa. She turned to Kristoff. “Maybe now might be a good time for that mead? You know, while I'm telling the story?”

“Sure.” Kristoff got up, rummaged in one of the llama packs sitting on the ground, and pulled out a bottle.

“Where'd you get the mead?” asked Glenn.

“Same place we got all the Spam,” said Anna. “We went viking!”

“You _went_ viking?” said Maggie.

“You...do know viking as actually a verb, don't you?” said Elsa.

Most of those assembled shook their heads.

“Well, it is. The Norse weren't vikings, they _went_ a-viking. What do you think we were doing in Chattanooga?”

“You were raiding and pillaging Chattanooga?” said Daryl.

“Ya-sure, you betcha!” said Anna.

“What?” said Kristoff, working the cork off the mead bottle. “Those people were dead, the city was burning, they didn't need those sheep anyway.”

Elsa twirled her fingertips above the nearby table's surface and small cylinders the size and shape of shot glasses condensed atop it.

Kristoff stepped over, and began to pour a shot into each of the ice glasses, about a dozen in all. “I...we...hope you like your mead chilled.”

Elsa picked up one glass and took a sip. “Mmm. Not bad.”

A few people stepped forward and picked up one of the ice glasses, gingerly taking sips of their contents.

“Be careful,” said Anna, “your lips might freeze.”

“Now she tells us,” Daryl.

“Hey, this is pretty good,” said Tyreese. “Really sweet, though.”

Elsa cleared her throat and began. “Here's a short bit about Thor, god of thunder.

“Thorr er asanna framastr, sa er kallathr er Asa-thorr etha Oku-thorr; hann er serkastr allra guthanna ok manna. Hann a thar riki er thruth-vangar heita, en holl hans heitir Bilskirnir; I theim sal eru fimm hunrdrth golfa ok fjorir tigir; that er hus mest, sva at menn hafa gort.

“Thorr a hafra tva heita, Tann-gnjostr ok Tann-grisnir, ok reigh tha er hann ekr, en hafrarnir draga reithina; thvi er hann kallathr Okthorr. Hann a ok thrja kost-gripi. Einn theira er hamarrinn Mjollnir, er hrim-thursar ok bergrisar kenna, tha er hann komr a lopt, ok er that eigi undarligt; hann hefir lamit margan haus a fethrum etha fraendum theira. Annan grip a hann beztan, megin-gjarthar; ok er hann spennir theim um sik, tha vex honum as-megin halfu. En thritha hlut a hann than er mikill gripr er I, that eru jarnglofar; theira ma hann eigi missa vith hamarskaptit. En engi er sva frothr at telja kunni oll stor-virki hans.”

“Whoa,” said Carl. “Now what did that mean?”

Elsa just laughed. “How about we tell you tomorrow? And...maybe we'll have to do those s'mores then, too.”

“Aw,” was all Carl said.

“And maybe,” said Kristoff, “Elsa can freeze part of the lake and we can get some hockey going.”

“Hockey?” said Glenn.

“Why not? It's fun!”

“If you're Canadian, maybe,” said Tyreese.

Kristoff shrugged. “Well, why do you think some people call Minnesota 'Canada South?'”

A few people groaned.

“And maybe Elsa can run eisgissel training.”

“Eis...what?”

“Eisgissel. It's a weapon made of ice.”

“O...kay.”

Rick looked over his shoulder. “Who's on first watch?”

“For what?” asked Elsa.

“No offense, but we don't know what's inside that perimeter of yours, let alone what might try to break in.”

“First of all, that wall's a yard thick. Anyone trying to get in is going to need explosives, a jackhammer, or a dozen guys with pick-axes. They could try to crash through it with a fully-loaded cement truck, I suppose. But that supposes someone knows we're here and can justify the resources to come and get us. Which in my estimation is kind of thin. And there's no way any of those walker things is getting in here.

“As for any that might be here...” She paused and tapped her chin pensively, then smiled. “How'd everyone like to spend the night in an igloo warren?”

Carl turned to Rick. “Can we, Dad?” He cleared his throat. “I mean, sounds interesting.”

“Well,” said Rick, “I don't have a problem with it, per se. We're still going to have to go over a few things tomorrow. And that's after combing the woods for walkers.”

“Good points, though,” said Elsa. “There always has to be a clear chain of command, even if it's just one person having the last word. We're not trying to upset anyone's...uh...anything. Which means we can either live with each other, or just next to each other, whatever works best I suppose.

“Until tomorrow, though, I still think the igloo thing would be most efficient.”

“And you're going to build them?” said Rick.

Elsa shrugged. “Naturally.”

* * *

An hour later, Rick lay inside a sleeping bag, the ceiling of a newly-made ice yurt hanging five feet over his head. A piece of cloth hung across a doorway on the other side. He could move it aside and step out into a low tunnel leading to another tunnel that then led to the bathroom building. It had been just as eerie watching Elsa build that as it had been seeing her erect that first section of wall. Someone with the power to do that so effortlessly still made him nervous. But she still showed no sign of megalomania. In fact, except for the phenomenal cosmic power, as Carl had put it, Elsa didn't seem particularly any less normal than anyone else in the group.

He still had questions. Hardly anyone else had done much introduction beyond names and hometowns and Rick knew that several of them, Daryl and himself in particular, weren't itching to be all kum-ba-ya with anyone anytime soon anyway. And they were bound to have to go somewhere for supplies at some point, too. There'd have to be a protocol for that, as well as what to do about anyone else who might happen to wander up to the wall. In the meantime, though, there was peace and security and that was worth its weight in bullets.

He heard a guitar and some female accompaniment echo down the ice tunnel outside.

“Elsa? Will you help me hide a body?” It was Anna.  
“Come on, we can't delay.  
“No one can see him on the floor, get him out the door before he can decay  
“I thought you were my buddy. We won't get caught! Just help me and don't ask why  
“Will you help me hide a body? It doesn't have to be in one piece.”

“Go away, Anna.”

“Oh, dear, why?”

Both women burst into laughter.

“You know, Anna,” said Elsa, “maybe you should write some alternate words for that piece. Maybe something about building a snowman?”

“Hmm. Good idea. I'll work on that.”

“I should button up the yurt so we can get some shut-eye, eh?”

“Ayup,” said Kristoff.

Then there was silence.

Yes, things were definitely getting weird...again.


End file.
